Being raised in the 1970s, our Mother was a big believer in ‘smacked bottoms’ (no-one I knew ever called them spankings) for Misbehaviour of any kind. Or at least she was where I was concerned, it seemed.

I had regularly been turned over her knee , my little sister Sarah, who was five years younger than me, had never once had so much as a quick slap.

It wasn’t as if she was a little angel either and, naturally, I came to quite resent it. Quite often, at the end of having my backside tanned, I would complain that Sarah never got similar treatment when she was naughty. And the complaint would often draw another smack for being insolent.

Then, not long after her sixth birthday, everything changed. Sarah had been a brat all day, talking back at Mother and at lunchtime she had just played with her food. She was still complaining about it and generally being pouty as we played after the meal, she on the floor with her doll, me at the cleared table working on a model aeroplane kit.

Something must have just snapped inside Mother’s head because the next thing I knew there was an almighty yelling as Mother picked up Sarah, tucked her under her arm and swatted the seat of her dress.

At this stage, all I could think of was how typical it was that having finally earned a smack, Sarah wasn’t getting it like I did. But it appeared this was just the prelude. Mother sat down on the sofa and pulled the screaming girl towards her.

Then she took hold of Sarah’s hands and held them firmly down as she looked her squarely in the eye and began to give her the biggest telling-off she’d ever had.

By now, I knew what was coming. With me, Mother would lecture me with my hands held like that until I had calmed down enough to be efficiently smacked. Sure enough, Sarah eventually got quieter, though still crying, and Mother obviously decided it was time.

Watching from the table, Sarah yelled again as Mother put her firmly over her lap – she’d seen too many of my smacked bottoms not to know what was coming and how much it would hurt.

I literally did not know where to look as Mother went to work. I felt all sorts of conflicting feelings (most of them rather base) as Mother smacked hard

Finally it was over, Sarah was in floods and like me, was put in the corner, to think about what she’d done.